Loose Ends
by walutahanga
Summary: In the comic books, Gwen Stacy has children with Norman Osbourne. How would they fit into the movieverse?
1. Prologue

**Loose Ends**

* * *

**Warnings**: Some innuendo and implied sexuality.

**Rating**: PG-13

**Summary**: In the comic books, Gwen Stacy has children with Norman Osbourne. I was wondering how they would fit into the movieverse and somehow this was born.

* * *

Gwen Stacy was everything an Osborne should be.

Norman Osbourne had chosen her to marry his son. He picked her for her keen mind and influential father and wholesome good looks. Her modelling job was glamorous, but not trashy. She had her own money, and so wasn't after a trust fund. She was intelligent and ambitious enough to oneday work for Oscorp if Norman hadn't already chosen her to run it.

In short, she had all the qualities that would balance out Harry's lacks. Everything that he didn't have, she did. Norman had no illusions about his son. All it meant was that he had to be more thorough in his preparations. Harry might eventually be the pretty public face of Oscorp, but Gwen Stacy would be the force driving it.

Norman pointed her out to his son, like a man giving a dog a scent and letting it slip the leash. The expectation was clear: Harry was to seduce and marry Gwen with the dogged (pardon the pun) determination of a hunting dog dragging down it's prey. In this area at least, Norman believed his son capable. Harry had plenty of charisma, if nothing to back it up, and by the time the honeymoon was over, Gwen would find herself with an interest in a multi-million dollar company. Who wouldn't be able to resist that? Harry was the bait to lure her into the trap containing an even bigger, shinier bait.

What Norman hadn't counted upon was the trashy red-head that had already sunk her claws into Harry. He sulked and resisted, and in the end didn't even bother to show up and meet Gwen. Norman was left sitting at a restaurant with his son's future wife, looking at an empty chair and struggling to keep the Goblin from surfacing and killing the maitre d' just on principle.

"My apologies," he said with a forced smile. He imagined gutting the red-head and his smile grew more sincere. "Harry is rather absent minded these days."

"It's alright," Gwen says, folding her menu and giving him a sweet, surprisingly charming smile. All melting sugar and spice, like the girl next door. "It doesn't mean you and I can't have a nice meal."

This is a twist he hadn't seen coming. He'd picked her out as a partner for his son. He had no interest in another wife for himself. He already had the son he needed – _disappointing though he was _– and one must work with the materials one had at hand. The company must go from father to son. That was the way of the world. Another child could lead to legal problems and disruption of the smooth line of inheritance. As a daughter-in-law, Gwen would be a valuable asset, securing the line of succession. As a wife, she'd be a liability and possibly a threat.

He knew these things, but Gwen smiled at him, and he couldn't help but be flattered. In the back of his mind, the Goblin stirred with goblets of dark, gloating amusement, but there was little to catch it's interest and it sank back under again.

Norman folded his menu and put it aside.

"Why don't we try the sea food platter?"

* * *

Half a bottle of wine later, and they were both mellow and laughing over a truly terrible joke about ionic molecules. Norman noticed that Gwen's nose crinkled prettily when she laughed. She leaned across to re-fill his glass.

"More wine, Mr Osboarn?"

"Gwen, I've told you. Norman. Or should I start calling you 'Miss Stacy'?"

"Point taken," she said. "…Norman."

His name was a ripe invitation on those full lips. He picked up one of the prawns and held it out in silent invitation. She parted her lips and let him slide it into her mouth. She chewed slowly, her blue gaze meeting his in a bold challenge.

Norman suddenly had to take a deep breath.

"Perhaps you'd like to come up to my house later on?" He said. "For a nightcap."

Her lips curved in a smile.

"I'd like that, Norman."

He summoned the check and they left the restaurant in short order, his hand resting on the small of her back.

* * *

It was extremely good luck that Gwen was unable to reach Norman before he died.

Certainly if he'd known she was pregnant, he would have taken the time away from his busy schedule of torturing Spiderman to tidy up that particular loose end.

As it was, Norman died, impaled on his own glider and never knew he had fathered twins.


	2. Chapter 1

**Loose Ends**

**Part One**

* * *

_A/N: Spoilers for Spiderman 3 and X-Men:The Last Stand. Just assume for the story's sake the X-men movies happened five or six years after the Spiderman ones. _

* * *

_Six years later…_

"I don't understand what you want us to do," Storm says carefully.

The orphanage director is one of those rare middle-aged women who have disdained to use hair-dye. Her hair is steel grey, and the only scrap of make-up on her face is a touch of lipstick. Her clothes are pressed and ironed, and she sits bolt upright behind her desk. The room's only decoration is a little copper Jesus on the wall, which glares at Storm with a harsh expression unusual for a figure generally agreed to be the epitome of forgiveness.

"What I want, Miss Ororo, is for you to take them away." The director spells out her request with barely leashed impatience, somehow conveying the sense that to refuse her would be unreasonable in the extreme. Xavier's school has enjoyed a long 'understanding' with her orphanage, in which parentless mutants quietly pass into Xavier's care with no questions raised. Only this understanding makes Storm keep a civil tone.

"Mrs Douglass, I'm afraid there has been a misunderstanding about the nature of our school. Xavier's school only takes students that are mutants."

"Fine, they're not mutants." The woman's mouth tightens on the word, pulls in on itself. "But they're not _normal_ either. You have to admit that."

"Perhaps they are different," Storm agrees diplomatically. "But the tests are clear. They don't possess an X-gene. They are outside my field of experience."

"They're strong, they're fast. They have unnatural reflexes. Perhaps you might be unfamiliar with the cause, but the result is the same. I'm sure you've dealt with much worse."

"Perhaps. But if we accept them, there will be two other children who we will not be able to accept. And, if I may be so bold, you seem to have dealt with them admirably so far."

The director's frown deepens.

"Speaking honestly, Miss Munroe, it's a miracle that no one has been hurt yet."

"How do you mean?"

"They're… odd, both of them."

Storm folds her hands and waits. It doesn't take long for the director to start talking, the words flooding out of her like it's something she's wanted to say for a long time.

"They barely ever talk. The boy has a temper. He's already fractured a boy's ribs during a fight, and Mr Mitchell – our counsellor – says what happened with his wrist was an accident, but I have my doubts…" She trails off, staring into space, nostrils flaring. "And the _girl_. At least the boy you know what to expect. But the girl is always standing there, watching. It's unnatural. And after what happened with poor Katie Brown… well, nothing was ever proven, but she was there, wasn't she?"

Storm has seen the same look, heard the same sentiment a thousand times. She feels a stab of sympathy for the twins. At least mutants have their own kind and community. The twins are kin to no one. They're anomalies, freaks, whatever they are. They're not human, not mutant. They're the only two of their kind in the whole, wide world.

If they stay here, at best they will be subject to suspicion and dislike and barely contained fear. At worst, everything the director suspects is the absolute truth, and if they are not checked soon, they will eventually become monsters as bad as Magneto. Worse, because no higher purpose will motivate them.

"Perhaps I can find an opening," she says. She tries not to think of which children she will be turning away because of this. "Temporarily. We have some experts in genetics on staff. Perhaps they will be able to work out the… problem."

The director's eyes light up, and she's indecently hasty in doing up the paperwork that will transfer the twins into the custody of Xavier's Home for Talented Youngsters.

* * *

"What the hell, 'Ro?" Logan glares down at the two dark-haired six year olds who stare up at him with unreadable eyes.

"Don't start," Storm tells him, closing the car door with her hip.

"We've barely got enough rooms for what we have, and you want to take on two strays who aren't even– "

"Drop it, Logan." For some reason, his anger makes her defensive. "Maybe they haven't got exactly the same twist in their genes that we do, but they have to face exactly the same crap. So quit riding my ass, and help me with the suitcases."

Logan blinks at her and – wonder of wonders – backs down. Triumph is a warm, tingly glow in her middle. It's a rare occasion she can get the Wolverine to do what she wants without at least two hours of arguing, a day of nagging, and some blatant emotional blackmail. He lifts the suitcases out of the boot and finds a ragged pink teddy-bear that he passes over to the little girl with a muttered:

"Here you go, kid."

The girl clutches it to her chest, studying him warily. Ororo sees the way Logan's expression softens very slightly and he shifts his hand as if he'd rumple the girl's hair, but thinks the better of it. It is the worst kept secret in the mansion that Logan adores kids. It generally takes adults a day to figure this out, and the children all of five minutes. No one has yet figured out a way to tell Logan that everyone already knows his gruffness is for show.

Ororo takes the little boy's hand.

"Come on inside," she says, making her voice soft and warm. "We've got a room set up for you both. You're alright to share a room, aren't you?"

The boy's forehead crinkles, and she wonders if he's going to answer, but after silently conferring with his sister, he says;

"Yes."

She smiles brightly.

"Good. We'll get you set up, and get you some dinner." Under her breath she adds; "Then we'll see about figuring out what to do with you."

* * *

Moira McTaggert has no more new information. The tests had been clear, and going over them again won't yield any new answers. There's no x-gene anywhere in the twins' DNA, and although there are some interesting anomalies, there's no clear answers about the source of their strength – and no idea what to expect.

"Can't you take a closer look at these anomalies?" Ororo says, and knows immediately from the polite look on Moira's face over the video link that she's said something monumentally stupid.

"Ororo," she says kindly. "They're isolated genetic fragments, scattered across an entire DNA strand. Even if I could pinpoint them all, it would take years for me to piece together their function. You'd be better off going straight to the source."

"Which is?"

"The family. These sort of abilities don't just occur randomly. It stands to reason that they inherited it from one or the other of their parents."

"Unless they were artificially induced."

"All the more reason to eliminate the biological parents as sources. Their father's not listed on their birth certificate, but their mother is. I've emailed you her details. Find out as much as you can. A full medical history if possible." Moira checked her watch. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a patient waiting."

* * *

It's surprisingly easy to track the mother down. There were only nine Gwendoline Stacys of the right age living in New York at the time, and with Kitty's help, and a lot of what Ororo suspects to be highly illegal computer activity, they have narrowed it down to three. The first one emails them straight back, saying she is not the mother, but wishes them luck in their search. The second says she was pregnant at the time, but not with twins. The third one calls them that night. She wants proof that Ororo is who she says she is, and Ororo calls Moira to email Gwen the twins' medical history.

They meet the next morning at a café. Storm's doubts vanish the moment she catches sight of the woman. The twins have her chin and mouth.

"I thought at first you were calling me because you needed bone marrow or a kidney," Gwen admits, stirring her coffee slowly with a spoon. "Then I read the files you sent me. Medicine isn't my field, but I understood enough. They're mutants, aren't they."

Ororo feels a twinge of irritation; why does everyone keep _assuming_ that?

"We don't know what they are," she says. She pauses and adds delicately; "Is there anything in your family tree that might…?"

Gwen looks startled, blue eyes wide.

"God no. We're insanely normal."

"The father then?"

Gwen hesitates.

"I wouldn't know," she says. "It was a one night stand, and he wasn't…" She pauses, rearranges what she was going to say. "We didn't move in the same circles. He was much older, very sophisticated, utterly brilliant. I knew that scandal wouldn't be an option for him, and I was keen to avoid it myself, which is why I made the decisions I did. And he died not long after we became involved, so the point became moot."

"What about the rest of his family?" Storm persists.

"He had a son my age," Gwen said. "I never met him, though we were meant to have dinner together, which is actually how Norman and I ended up… But Harry died, about five years ago. Not long after his father in fact."

Two deaths in quick succession. Coincidence, or evidence of something darker?

"If you don't mind me asking," Storm said. "How did they die?"

"Norman was murdered in a home invasion. Harry died in a car accident. It was a terrible tragedy. The last of the Osbournes."

It suddenly clicks together in Ororo's brain. She'd read about it in the papers. The papers had seized on the idea of a family 'curse' and re-played it for weeks afterward. This might actually answer a few questions. Osbourne Industries had access to some amazing medical technology, and Norman Osbourne had apparently been as much a scientist as he was a businessman. If there had been an accident, and he had been exposed, then this might explain the twins' abilities.

Or maybe it hadn't been an accident, which led to troubling questions. Had the home invasion had been entirely random? Had Harry Osbourne been exposed as well, or inherited the abilities from his father? Or was he innocent of this entire thing, and the car that killed him truly an accident?

"Is there anyone who might be able to get hold of their medical histories?" She asks.

Gwen thinks, biting her full lower lip in a way that should be irritating, but she somehow makes looks endearing. She rifles through her bag and scribbles a number down on a piece of paper.

"There was a boy, Peter Parker. I went to college with him, and I know he and Harry were very close. They went to the same high school, dated the same girl – at different times, of course," she adds with a grin that makes Ororo like her more. "If Harry had told anyone something strange about his family it would have been Peter or Mary-Jane."

Ororo pockets the number.

"Thank you."

Gwen looks past Ororo then, and there's something sad and distant in her eyes.

"I arranged for a good home for them," she said. No need to clarify which 'them' she was talking about. "I even made sure they'd be adopted together. I couldn't bear the idea of breaking them up. What happened?"

"When they were four, their adoptive parents placed them in an orphanage, claiming they couldn't handle them any longer." Ororo keeps her voice free of judgement. A flash of guilt crosses Gwen's pretty face, and Ororo wonders if she's about to ask to meet them.

"Let me know," she says instead. "If you have any luck."


	3. Chapter 2

**Loose Ends**

**Part Two**

* * *

Mr and Mrs Parker live in a high rise apartment in the middle of the city. Gwen has called ahead, so when Ororo gives her name, they buzz her in.

Peter opens the door almost before she's knocked.

"Ororo Munroe, right? Come on in."

He has a towel over one shoulder, a baby carried against it that he absently pats in a burping motion. Ororo wrinkles her nose at the sour smell of baby vomit. She has never pined for a child of her own. She likes children well enough, but they generally come to her when they're toilet trained and able to obey simple instructions.

Peter shows her into the kitchen.

"Mary-Jane? Ororo's here."

Mary-Jane is a dazzlingly pretty red-head who looks vaguely familiar. Ororo thinks she might have been in a few films, though she can't remember which ones. Right now she's in the middle of dinner preparations, and has the wide-eyed exhausted look of new parents everywhere. Neverthless, she smiles politely and shakes Ororo's hand.

"Nice to meet you. You said you had some questions about Harry?"

There's warmth in the way she says his name, easy familiarity. Ororo's hopes rise.

"Yes. The situation is delicate, and I can't tell you everything, but a member of the Osbourne family has a medical condition."

Mary-Jane frowns.

"I didn't know Harry had any family. Aside from his father, of course." She says 'his father' like it's a bad word.

"He didn't get along with Norman?"

"He loved his father," Peter interjected.

"The worse for him," Mary-Jane mutters.

"Mary-Jane."

"You know what Norman was like around Harry. Nothing was ever good enough. If it weren't for him–" But here she bites her lip and turns her attention to the carrot she's chopping like it's personally offended her.

"Norman was an exceptional man," Peter told Ororo. "But he made some bad choices. One of them was the way he treated his son."

"I see."

There's history here; a complex one. Ororo decides she might as well get to the point.

"Did either of you ever notice anything unusual about Norman?"

She sees the look they exchange.

"Like what?" Peter says carefully.

"Anything at all. Something that might have been off."

"That doesn't help," Mary-Jane says. She runs her fingers through her hair and shares another look with Peter. Whatever it communicates, they come to a decision. "Look, it's not well known, but toward the end of his life, Norman having problems."

"Physical problems?"

"Mental. He was becoming increasingly unstable, even violent. He kept it very well hidden, even from his son. Harry didn't find out until a long time after he died."

"But no physical symptoms?"

Again that look between them.

"No," Peter says. "But then, we didn't have a lot of contact with Norman. My job kept me busy, and Mary-Jane…"

"We only met the once," Mary-Jane says succinctly. "He hated me. He thought I wasn't good enough for his son."

"That was the last time I saw him too," Peter says. "During Thanksgiving. He and Harry had a fight, and Norman left. My aunt had an accident right after that, so I wasn't really paying any attention to the Osbournes – not until I heard about the break-in."

He grimaces as he says this, and pats the baby, who is starting to fuss.

"So who is this family member?" Mary-Jane asks curiously, wiping her hands on a tea-towel. Why not, Ororo decides. It's not as if there are any family members left to sue her for defamation.

"Before he died, Norman Osbourne had an affair that resulted in a pregnancy. The child is having a few difficulties that we believe are of a genetic source, but without immediate family to compare to…" She shrugs.

Mary-Jane and Peter have gone completely still.

"A child?" Mary-Jane whispers.

"Harry had a sibling?" Peter shifts his own child into a more comfortable hold. "He never said anything."

"He probably didn't know. It was covered up."

Peter frowns.

"What _exactly_ is the nature of the genetic problems?"

There's a different tone to his voice; slightly deeper, more assertive. It's vaguely familiar, but Ororo can't remember where she's heard it.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss it," she lies. She pauses and adds; "Is there anything that you should tell me, Peter?"

His hesitation is so slight, she almost misses it.

"No. Nothing at all."

* * *

Ororo's sure that if she could get the Parkers to crack, they could tell her exactly what is going on. But they give nothing away. They remind her of a family of mutants living in the deep South, who had steadfastly refused to admit they were mutants, even after one of the kids was born with horns. Live a lie long enough and it becomes a part of you.

At the hotel, she makes a phone call to Logan, who says the twins are settling in fine. On the surface they seem like any other mutant, so they're fitting in well with the other kids. The girl actually said a full sentence at breakfast today. Storm and Logan discuss a few more things: the retaining wall that needs fixing; Bobby's coming exams; Kitty and Peter's non-too-subtle courtship. Storm hangs up with the bittersweet feel of homesickness. She falls asleep reading a book.

She wakes knowing she's not alone. The room is dark, but the window is open, and a cool breeze is washing through the room.

"I know you're there."

A figure drops off the ceiling, landing in complete silence and settling on the back of a chair in a position that should be very uncomfortable but he makes look easy.

"Not many people can do that, you know," Spiderman says conversationally.

"The window wasn't open when I went to sleep." Ororo puts her book aside and folds her legs. She's met Spiderman a few times, in the course of her duties as an X-man. He's easier to get along with than the Fantastic Four or Iron Man, having experience with being hated and therefore a more sympathetic view of mutants. "Why are you here?"

"You've been asking questions about Norman Osbourne."

"I see news travels fast in New York."

"Peter Parker used to be my photographer. He still passes on information, now and again. He knew I'd be interested in this."

"So who was Norman Osbourne?"

Storm sees the shape of Spiderman's head looking away, his shoulders steeling themselves.

"Norman Osbourne was the Green Goblin."

Ororo's startled laughter wheezes out of her.

"You're kidding."

She remembers him – Spiderman's first adversary, and arguably one of the worst. Utterly unpredictable, choosing targets at random and with no particular agenda. At least Magneto had a goal and vision. The Green Goblin's mission had apparently been to instil terror and chaos into New York.

"I wish I was. I never knew exactly where his powers came from, only that he was stronger than the normal human. Almost as strong as me. For a while I thought he might have been some kind of mutant."

"He wasn't." Ororo is thinking, mind racing. "So why were the Parkers protecting him?"

"Not him. Harry."

"What did Harry have to do with – no, wait. Don't tell me." There'd been a second Green Goblin, who'd lasted an even shorter time than the first, and had eventually sacrificed himself protecting the city from some sort of sand monster. So Harry had inherited his father's condition, but had chosen to turn it to a more noble purpose. The Professor would have liked him. "So the whole family is the product of some kind of… genetic tampering?"

"Near as I can tell." Spiderman shifts. "Peter told me there was a child. Boy or girl?"

"Both. Twins."

Spiderman is silent for a long moment.

"Harry would have liked that," he says at last, and he sounds very sad. Ororo remembers that Spiderman and the Green Goblin had worked together in that last battle. It's a lonely gig, being Spiderman. He rarely keeps partners, is too young for sidekicks, and has only the occasional team-up despite the Human Torch persistently dogging him to join the Fantastic Four. He doesn't even have the camaraderie of his own kind, like the X-Men. Like the twins, a freak among freaks.

"Any advise on how to deal with them?" She asks.

"Find them a good family. Raise them right."

"No one wants them. We only took them because the matron outright begged, and I could tell she was half a step from having them committed."

Spiderman says nothing, and when Storm looks up, the room is empty.

* * *

Somehow Storm is not surprised when the Parkers turn up at the mansion two weeks later. Peter is wearing a faded pair of jeans and a 'Nerds Rule' shirt that has seen better days. Mary Jane is wearing a sundress and one of those stylish hats that Storm never quite got the hang of. She unbuckles her daughter out of the car seat and says;

"We're here to see the twins." Her pretty face is determined, as if she's expecting refusal, and prepared to fight.

"Of course." Storm opens the door the whole way. "Come in."

As she leads the Parkers through the mansion, she watches them from the corner of her eye, as she would prospective students; watching, waiting for some sign. A certain gait, an expression, a reaction. Mutations can be read, if you know what you're looking for. The sight of a boy with scales doesn't phase them, nor does the girl with the hands instead of feet and the prehensile tail climbing the railing.

The twins are playing on the basketball court with Jimmy. They're one of the few children who are willing to, because their powers aren't affected by his range. They come reluctantly when Storm calls them over. The boy is panting and flushed from the exercise, his sister smiling. It is the first time Storm has seen her smile, she realizes.

"This is Peter and Mary-Jane," she says. "They would like to meet you."

Peter kneels down so they're eye to eye.

"Hello," he says. His voice is strange, like there is something in his throat. The boy looks at Storm for reassurance. She nods, to let him know its okay. The girl has had a sudden attack of shyness and is hiding behind her brother.

Mary-Jane steps in.

"What are your names?"

The girl peeps out from behind her brother.

"I'm Sarah," she whispers.

The boy mumbles;

"Gabriel."

"I'm glad to meet you." Peter indicates the basketball that Gabriel is holding. "Are you playing a game?"

Another nod.

"Can I play?"

"I don't know." Gabriel looks him over. "Are you a mutant?"

"No."

"Then you won't be able to keep up."

"Try me."

Gabriel considers him for a few seconds, seems to decide he's serious, and flings the ball at him, too fast for an ordinary human to catch. Peter catches it.

"You're not a mutant," Sarah blurts out, too surprised to stay silent.

"No," Peter says. "I'm different."

The twins study him. Sarah isn't hiding behind her brother anymore.

"We're different," she says finally. Peter smiles crookedly.

"I know." He lobs the ball back to Gabriel, who is staring like he can't decide whether he wants to come closer, or get further away. Sarah shows no such indecision, edging forward.

"Are you different too?" She asks Mary-Jane.

"No." Mary Jane kneels down. "But May is. Would you like to meet her?" Sarah nods and comes closer to look at the baby. Gabriel considers Peter for a long moment, then finally tosses the ball back.

* * *

It only takes a few days to sort out the paperwork. The Parkers will foster Sarah and Gabriel for the time being. Adoption will take a little longer, but Storm doesn't think they will have any trouble. She'll make it her personal mission to ensure they don't. Logan helps the kids pack and carries the suitcases downstairs where Peter puts them in the trunk. He studiously avoids Logan's narrow gaze, and Storm pretends not to notice that he's not really putting any effort into lifting the suitcases. She says:

"So if I want to pass on any information to Spiderman…?"

"I'll make sure he gets it."

"Thank you."

She glances over at Sarah, who's chattering away to Mary-Jane, Mary-Jane nodding absently, the way adults do when listening to a child's prattle. The baby, buckled into the backseat, is staring wide-eyed while Gabriel waggles a teddy bear for her.

"Do you see Norman when you look at them?" Storm asks.

"No." Peter looks at the car and smiles, both affectionate and wistful, and that if nothing else convinces her this is the right decision. "They have Harry's eyes."

She and Logan say good-bye to the kids and stand back as Peter starts the car. They watch the car until it disappears out the gate.

"That was some good work," Logan says quietly.

"Yes." Storm closes her eyes, tilts her face to feel the sunshine. In a few minutes she will have to go back inside and start sorting through the paperwork to pick which two applicants they'll be bringing in to replace the twins. Jimmy must be comforted over the loss of his new friends, and some class schedules rearranged. And she still hasn't found a psychic to replace Charles.

But for the moment she stands outside and basks in this warm feeling of success. She has the feeling they should enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.


End file.
